


Ode to Eorzea

by Ode_to_Eorzea



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Final Fantasy XIV: A Realm Reborn, Limsa Lominsa (Final Fantasy XIV), Miqo'te (Final Fantasy XIV), Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Other, Y’shtola Rhul
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-05-02 23:42:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14556144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ode_to_Eorzea/pseuds/Ode_to_Eorzea
Summary: A new adventurer lands in the city-state of Limsa Lominsa.





	1. Chapter 1

Hear. Vast space.

Hear. Feel. A blinding light. A cloud of darkness. A cloaked figure reaching out maliciously.

Hear. Feel. Think. Knives in her hand, armor and chain mail covering her body. The cloaked figure comes, and she prepares to-

“Oi, y’all right, lass?”

She opens her eyes, and a crimson shirt the first thing she sees; the concerned look of her travel companion the next.

“You were moanin’ in yer sleep, an’ sweatin’ buckets besides,” he explains. “Don’t look like seasickness, so it’s like the aether. Some’er more sensitive to it than others, but you’ll get used to it soon enough. Aye, it’ll pass.”

“Yeah, thank you,” she replies, wiping her brow, still distracted by the dream. She looks around the cabin, making sure she was on a solid surface. No stars or shadows. Good, she thinks. Another dream; they’re getting more frequent. And longer. What’s coming...

“Name’s Brennan, by the way,” the man interrupts her thoughts. “How about you come up on deck with me and get a bit o’ fresh air. I could use a bit o’ company, but these here young’uns ain’t much for conversation.”

She looks to see who he was referring to, and spies two white haired teens sitting opposite of them on the bench. Twins, by the look. Cute. “Youth these days, hm? Some fresh air sounds, refreshing. I’d love to accompany you.” She follows her companion above deck, looking out at the vast blue that surrounds them. She closes her eyes and breathes in the salt water and enjoys the wind blowing through her raven hair.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Brennan says. “But you’ve got lovely eyes, lass! Aye, the color of the costal waters, that. Seems like you’re destined for Limsa Lominsa, even though it’s not yer home.”

“How can you tell,” she asks. “I could be a proud Limsan for all you know.”

“Judgin’ by your unusual garments, I’d reckon’ you’re one of them new adventurers,” he asks, earning an impressed nod. “So what brings you to Eorzea then, and to adventurin’ in general? Riches? Power? Fame?”

“I suppose adventuring for the sake of adventuring won’t be a satisfying enough answer for you, will it?”

“No lass, I like to know the people I acquaint with,” he smiles, looking deep into her eyes. “An’ there’s much more to you than just whims and self preservation.”

“Oh, so you can read the soul now!” She exclaims sarcastically. “Well then there’s no need for me to speak at all.”

“No need to be shy, lass,” Brennan laughs good naturedly. “We’ve all got our reasons and purposes for what we do. So, out with it then. What’s bringin’ a young thing like you so far from home?”

He won’t let it go, then she sighs, then begins to ponder how best to answer his question. Indeed, what do I want...aside from a whimsical adventure. Sun, I love the sun...

Money...always good...

Fame...but for what?

“Haha, your tail wags when you do heavy thinkin’, eh? Miqo’te ‘re the same no matter where they’re from!” The man teases her. “It’s that hard to think of what you want then?”

“No, it’s just that I’d rather not come across as too...idealistic, if you will.”

“Eh? What’s it about then,” he asks curiously.

She starts her explanation with an embarrassed smile. “My family are weavers. And we help people in a way but, I can do more. Might as well make a name for myself while I do it, right?”

“Nothin’ to be ashamed of there, lass. Aye, you can do right by the realm and earn a name for yourself fightin’, but remember there’s more things to live for than die over. Mighty fine you have a craft too there, eh? Y’can make a fortune that way!”

“Truly?”

“Aye. There’re more important things than fightin’ fer glory. Such as breathin’. Ain’t not profit in bein’ dead, an’ that’s a fact.”

“Indeed,” she smirks, crossing her arms. “Sounds like my experience will be good business. Perhaps you-” her words are cut off by the sound of the ship’s bell ringing violently.

“Seven hells, what’s happening,” he asks. She points into the distance as 3 ships come into sight.

“Pirates!” A voice cries soon followed by the sounds of canon fire. The ball drops in the sea, and she pushes her companion’s head down.

“Are you all right?” she asks, checking between the bars for more canon fire.

“Pirates! Bloody hells!…” he mumbles in a panic. Indeed, she thinks. Future fighting partners to look forward to. Her thoughts are soon broken by a deckhand sliding towards them.

“Have ye no sense?! Get below!” She nods, pulling Brennan through the chaos of terrified passengers to get below deck. Once there, they join the other passengers and wait out the chaos.

“Thanks lass,” the man says. “At least one of us kept our cool up there, eh?”

She shrugs, offering a calming smile. “Perhaps. Staying alive is something I ever strive for. A cool head usually helps with that.”

“Aye, that it is. Hate to see what’d happen if those pirates came aboard though...”

“Guess I’ll need to learn how to fight properly, then. Any ideas?”

Brennan, looking his companion up and down, giving some thought before his answer. “Well, yer quick on yer feet and quick in the head...though ye don’t seem the bookish type, pardon the observation. I’d say ye’d best pick up a pair o’ knives and learn how to use them proper.”

“Interesting,” she replies. “Anywhere I can learn?”

A sailor returns to tell everyone that they lost their pursuers, and that it’s safe to return to the deck. They all head up, and she and her companion head to the starboard, looking out for their destination on the horizon.

“Say lass,” he starts. “This your first time to Limsa?”

“It is,” she confirms. “I know it’s a city of pirates, both former and current. The leader was a pirate, was she not?”

“Aye, aye, you’ve got the right of it,” he nods. “Did yer studyin’, I see. Now about pickin’ up them knives: I’d say pop on over to the Adventurer’s Guikd as soon as you me get yer feet back. It’ll help ye get settled, and give you some places to start lookin’ fer work.”

She nods, listening intently as her travel partner explains the ins and outs of the city, her excitement growing with every word he speaks. “And look, there she is,” Brennan smiles, turning to gaze over the starboard of the ship.

The morning fog gives way to rising towers of white, bound together with thick rope bridges. Ships fill the shore, of all shapes in sizes. She sizes up the city, taking in the vastness of what is like to be her new home. The ship docks, and she disembarks, gazing up at the towering structures in front of her. A gentle nudge in the arm makes her turn her eyes away from the sight before her and she turns to see Brennan beaming, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

“You never told me your name, lass,” he explains. “Well, how ‘bout this: become the sort of storied personage I can brag about havin’ met, an’ I’ll consider us square.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” she jests. “Very well. Someday you’ll hear my name across Eorzea. And when they ask of me, you can tell them of the wide eyed adventurer aether sick on the boat that I was once.

He nods and smiles as he heads on his way. She looks back to the great ivory towers in front of her. Limsa Lominsa, her new home.

“Hey! You there!”

Her ears rise at the raised voice, and she turns to see a Roegadyn male in a yellow top glaring at her.

“Aye, I mean you. This is my district, and I make it my business to know all the scum that washes up in it.”

She frowns at the man. “That’s no way to welcome someone to your city, is it?”

“Ah, an adventurer fresh off the boat is it? And a witty one at that. Well then, allow one of Limsa Lominsa’s finest to set you on the right path. Hop to it lass, I haven’t got all day!”

Oh, what a gentleman. Well, I have to start somewhere. She smiles at her new guide, and makes her way to him.

“What’s your name, lass?”

“N’ailah Ode, newly come to Eorzea. Would you be able to direct me to the Adventurer's Guild?”


	2. Rogue Bene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> N’ailah gets initiated into the Rogue’s Guild.

N’ailah enters the Drowning Wench, scanning her new base of operation for the proprietor of the Adventurer’s Guild. 

_“Find Baderon. Look for the fella with the nose” was it? How descriptive,_ she frowns. _Everyone has a nose._ She continues scanning the pub, looking around the half moon counter till she spies a man making notes in a book of sorts. Squinting her eyes to get a better look, she notices a rather large protrusion on his face, just below the eyes. 

_That looks like a nose,_ she thinks, walking up to the counter. She looks down at his decorated bandana and opens her mouth, only to be cut off before the words leave her mouth. 

“Be with ye in a second, lass,” he speaks in a gravely tone, not looking up from the paperwork. 

_That is a nose, ye..._ “Of course, take your time.” She takes a seat in front of the man and continues gazing around, taking in the clientele. There were all manner of people sitting in the dingy tavern. Men in yellow and red, seafaring types, locals and foreigners aplenty. If there was a venue where everyone gathered for gossip, it would be here. 

“Migh’y pre’y ki’y we ‘ave ‘ere!” A slurred voice calls, accompanied by a thump on the counter. A towering man walks-if you can call it that-closer to the crossed-legged Miqo’te, nearly toppling onto the counter as he makes his way over. 

“‘Ow abou’ ye bring tha’ lovely body o’er ‘ere ‘n’ keep a man com’ny,” he slurs. He makes a labored lung in her direction, only to be met with a boot in the stomach. 

“I’ll pass,” the Miqo’te answers coolly, giving the man a gentle shove that sends him toppling backward. As he swears incomprehensible words, a Yellowjacket makes their way over and proceeds to drag the man from the premises. 

“Well, glad te see ye can take care o’ yerself! Ye’ll do well ‘ere.”

N’ailah turns to the familiar voice and is greeted to the face of the Drowning Wench’s owner. _That is a nose..._ “I’d like to think I’m a faster learner,” she smiles. “You’re Baderon, ye?”

“Aye, the bastard with the nose,” he laughs. “An’ I take it yer ‘ere to start the new life o’ an adventurer, am I right? Though I could use a tough bar maid like ye around ‘’ere. At any rate, let ol’ Baderon give ye the run o’ good ol’ Limsa, then!”

She nods, smiling pleasantly to mask her humor. _This speech will take some getting used to..._ she thinks as he explains about her new home. 

Through the thick accent she gathered a surfeit of information about Eorzea and Limsa Lominsa. The land had been through a lot in the past five years, an event called the Calamity causing untold devastation everywhere. Beast tribes summoned mighty beings called Primals that added to the work that came with rebuilding their lives. And so people like her, adventurers from near and far, had become common place. There was more than enough work to done, both big and small. 

_The question is what,_ she ponders. 

“‘m guessin’ from that restless tail o’ yers, yer doin’ more thinkin’ that listen’ right now,” he sneers, startling N’ailah from her thoughts. 

“Sorry, just...it’s a lot to take in, ye,” she explains. “And I was thinking of what I could do to play my part. It seems like there’s any number of options.”

“Aye, friend. But don’ go gettin’ ahead o’ yerself, now,” he smiles warmly. “First thing’s first, we gotta get ye registered! Put yer name down righ’ ‘ere fer me.”

N’ailah takes the quill, signing her name in quick, clean strokes. Baderon flips the log back his way, then looks her in the eyes.  
“N’ailah Ode, is it? A fine name, lass. Congratulations. Yer now an upstandin’ member o’ the Adventurer’s Guild!”

“Thank you. I think my first official job should be to find a weapon.”

“Well, well!” The man says surprised. “A little fighter, are ye? Well there’s more ‘n enough fightin’ to be had in a city full o’ pirates, believe ye me. What kind o’ weapons are ye after?”

“Knives or daggers being the ideal choice. I like to stay quick on my feet.”

“Daggers! That so,” Baderon asked. He runs his chin in contemplation, then gives the woman a thorough looking over. “‘Ow’re them arms o’ yers?”

“Sturdy.”

“Quick on the brain?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“Ain’t squeamish with a bit o’ blood?”

“...for the most part.”

“Then ye should be fine, if ye make it through yer first job.”

She cocks her head at the sudden interview, curious as to what sort of job the man had in mind for her. He turns around to reach into a dark wood drawer, pulling out a brown parcel and holding it out to N’ailah. 

“Well yer in luck, lass. Just so ‘appens I need a delivery made.”

She takes the package with a frown, unaware of the relation between knives and becoming a delivery girl. 

“Take this down the the Duitiful Sisters at the Fisherman’s Docks for me, will ye? An’ tell ol’ Lonwoerd I sent ye meself. An’ don’ forget te attune te any aetherytes ye pass on yer way down, ye ‘ere? Be careful an’ goo’ luck te ye!”

Still confused, she rises from her seat with a nod and rides the lift down the Lower Decks. As she steps from under the shadows, she blinks into the beating sun. The morning rays gleamed against the city, with a near blinding, towering crystal rising in the middle of the square. She walks up to it, reaching out her hand and closing her eyes, feeding her aether into the structure. The small jolt lets her know the process is complete, and she steps away to continue making her way down the docks. After asking for directions, she turns south and away from the tower buildings in the city center, making her way down the winding bridges, past the bustling residents and visitors going about their day. 

_So many people,_ she thinks as she heads down, finally spying the port where her ship had docked mere hours before. She takes in a whiff of the salt air, giving an unconscious hum and smile. _Far more people, but it smells just like home. I wonder what trade would be like if we had this many people. Among other things._

The heavy oak maze sent her off track a few times, finding her stopping at the incorrect guild in her confusion. But the kind Lalafell at the Fisherman’s Guild said she was welcome back any time she chose. Finally on track, she passes the docked ferry to see a blonde Roedagyn male standing guard outside a pristine door. She walks up to him, neck craning to meet eye contact he refused to meet. 

_Well two can play at this game,_. Swaying with the package in front of her, her sea-green eyes never leave the man’s face. Eventually he caves, and his frustrated gaze meets with N’ailah’s. 

“What’d ye want, lass,” he asks irritated. 

“Just to deliver a package, Lonwoerd,” she says coyly, handing over the brown parcel. “Baderon sent me, if that means anything.”

The man checks the contents, beaming as he pulls out a cookie, going in for a few more and stuffing them into his pockets. Investigating the rest of the package, his good eye widens. He turns his gaze to give N’ailah a serious looking over. 

“Ye sure about this, lass,” he asks, the sudden severity in his voice giving N’ailah pause. “Don’ know wha’ the old sod told ye about this place, bu’ it ain’ nowhere fer the weak or fain’ o’ heart.”

_Meaning danger...and possibly death. Well, there’s a first for everything, ye._ Meeting his gaze, she gathers her words. “I’m ready. I’ll leave it to you to, ‘measure my salt’. Or whatever, ye.”

He shrugs, though clearly amused. “Not quite there, but aye, we’ll get ye talkin’ like proper rogue yer. Now ‘ead on inside. Jacke’ll be waitin’ to meet ye.”

N’ailah is granted access to the building, and was greeted by a rather jarring sight. This was far from the church she was expecting to find. The pearly white coral of the outside walls were replaced with dank wood and dirty walls. Across the room were brigands wielding knives and drink, chatting away or practicing target practice as she walked through the door. Their peripheral stares followed her as she walks to the table in the middle of the room, where a man is sitting with his sandal clad feet resting atop it. 

“I’m looking for Jacke,” she says, the shake in her voice betraying her. _And here I thought I was ready._

“Aye, I’m Jacke,” the man answers. The Hyur that greeted her offers a bored glance, then returns to itching his green bandanna with the handle of his knife. “Mind tellin’ me the sod what told ye my name, and let ye in our ‘umble ‘ome?”

_Oh gods, more of this._ “I was just delivering a parcel on behalf of Baderon,” N’ailah states defiantly. I won’t be intimidated. “And I was told you could help me find a pair of knives.”

“Don’ know wha’ ye mean, lass,” he responds, standing from his seat to look her directly in the eyes. Raising icy eyes, he meets N’ailah’s crossed arms and crossed gaze. 

“But, ol’ Left-patch saw fit te let ye in,” he smirks. “Which means there’s somethin’ fierce about ye. So let ol’ Jacke give ye the quick n’ dirty about’ us, an’ then we can see ‘bout testin’ yer me’le.”  
“I- ok. Let’s hear it then,” N’ailah says, prepping for the intangible lecture that was soon to follow. _Navigator, guide my mind to understanding._

From what she could gather, there was honor even among pirates. And the Rogue’s Guild is in charge of maintaining the sanctity of the apparent pirate’s code, and hunting down any and all who break it-no matter what needs to be done. Knives being the first choice of weapon due to their lightweight nature, it’s no wonder that her inquiries into acquiring them were met with such interest. 

“It’ll be dirty work fer ye, but it needs doin’,” Jacke finishes. “So, ye still up to it, then?”

“Yes,” she answers shortly, earning a huff from her lecturer. 

“Ye could’ve thought about it a bit more...right, then,” he sighs, reaching to his sides. He holds out two worn daggers and hands them over the Miqo’te. “Congrats to ye, yer officially a member o’ the Rogue’s Guild now. I’d say we’ve earned ourselves a nice slog o’ ale at the ol’ Wench.”

“Celebration’s gonna ‘ave to wait, Jacke,” a voice from behind N’ailah calls. She turns to see a dark-skinned Lalafell walking her way. His twinned appearance with the guild leader suggested him to be one of her new guild mates. 

“Ah, bene timin’ Underfoot,” the Hyur says. “N’ailah, meet Underfoot, one o’ he Guild’s best an’ brigh’est. An’ yer new teacher, seein’ as how he’s in charge o’ new recruits.”

“Wha-,” the rogue protests, jolting backwards. “Since when did that happen?!”

“Since today apparently,” N’ailah shrugs. “I’m looking forward to all the rogue...y wisdom you can share, ye?”

“What’s that speech then, lass,” Jacke shakes his head. “Any road, yer first mission starts now. Normally I’d let ye get a bit o’ trainin’ in, but ol’ Baderon don’ send new folk our way without cause. Let’s see if yer worth yer salt. So explain the job to our young friend ‘ere, Underfoot, and the two of you get te workin’ on puttin’ the proper culls in the cells. Or the dirt, if it comes to it.”

“That’s our man,” Underfoot whispers. They were ducked behind a barrel on a docked ship in Aleport, the result of stalking their quarry over the past few hours. Under normal circumstances, the day’s investigation would end there, with them returning to the guild to plot a way to trap their target. But the crew was scheduled to set sail that night, and Underfoot wasn’t willing to wait. So N’ailah found herself waist-deep in a suddenly treacherous first assignment. 

“I don’t know why Jacke threw you into this on your first day, but don’t let me down, alright new girl? ‘Tll be bad on my instructor record if I lose a student on the their first mission.”

“I’m not keen on dying either,” N’ailah replies without looking. “And me surviving this mission is pretty paramount to that goal. So let’s get in and out so we can both keep a clean record, ye.”

As the midday sun beat down on the port, the crew set about their tasks to prepare to leave. The grizzled captain makes his ways to his quarters, dragging his feet. Underfoot and N’ailah follow quietly behind, sticking to the shadows. He finally enters and shuts the door behind him. Breaking cover, N’ailah removes her spell and opens the door wide enough for her to enter and Underfoot to snake between her legs. Taking off his hat, the captain sits in his chair and gives the Miqo’te a looking over. 

“Well yer a pre’y one,” he says lazily. “‘ere fer some fun, ‘re we.” His eyes go wide as a blade kisses on his neck. 

“Only fun ye’ll be havin’ is with your cell mates,” Underfoot states calmly. “Ye broke the code, and now you face the consequences. Give us the goods back and make it easier for yourself.”

“Easy,” the man repeats. “Ain’t nothin’ been easy since that bitch Adm’rl decided to outlaw our lively’ood. Nay, lad, you want what rightly belongs te me, you’ll ‘ave to take it by force!”

The pirate launches up, knocking Underfoot off the arm of the chair he was standing on. Pulling the gun on his hip out, he readies it in nailahs direction only to gasp with the wind knocked it of him. In shock, he looks down to see N’ailah’s face splattered with red dots and her arm extended into his chest. 

“So that’s it, then,” he whispers, falling back into his chair. “A dog’s life...ended with a...dog’s dea...th...” he gasps his final words, lifeless eyes left staring at the ceiling. 

“Well here I was expecting to save you, and you saved me!”

N’ailah doesn’t even register the words as she stares at the corpse she just created. “I thought it’d be more difficult,” she says mindlessly. 

“It’s easier to protect your life than anything else,” he replies. “Well, let’s go report back to Jacke and get ye cleaned up; our work’s done here.” They make their exit from the cabin window, leaping into the sea and sneaking their way back to shore. The voices of the frightened, raging crew follows them as they ride their chocobos back to Limsa. 

“Glad ye made it back in one piece,” Jacke greets them. His gaze lingers knowingly on N’ailah’s dark expression. “‘Ow’d it go?”

“He resisted, and we had to kill him,” Underfoot explains. “Well, N’ailah did.”

“It had to be done,” she says quietly. The events of the day still hasn’t quiet processed for her yet.

“It ain’ ever easy, save against some nasty buggers. But what’s done is done, an’ yer both alive an’ in one piece. Ye did a bene job on yer first mission, N’ailah. Seems to be a good start to her first...’ow long ye been in Limsa now?”

“One day.”

“Seven hells! And you sent her on a mission like this?!” Underfoot’s fury made N’ailah smile. 

“‘Ells if I knew that!” Jacke sputters back. “Ye shoulda told me, lass! I never woulda sen’ ye off on somethin’ this big so soon!”

“Well what’s done is done. But I’ll remember to tell you next time, ye?”

“There ye go with that funny accent again.” He stares at her a moment, then turns his head towards the back. “There’s a shower through there, so go give yerself a proper washin’. Sea water don’ make fer no proper bath. Then head on back to the Wench. An’ give that old bastard an earful fer me fer sendin’ ye withou’ proper warning.”

Freshly bathed, N’ailah steps out of the guild. The sun was setting over the docks, painting the city a golden yellow. She pauses a moment next to the aetherite, taking in a large breath of the sea air. 

_Beautiful. A place like this is worth fighting for._

_”A dog’s life to a dog’s death”..._ The thought causes her to frown. Dead dogs don’t get to watch the sunset. As her thoughts darken in harmony with the skyline, a light in the corner of her eye catches her gaze. Listening to the bustle, she watches as men and women hustle about between the wide coral opening next to her. 

_“There’re more important things than fightin’. Such as breathin’. Ain’t not profit in bein’ dead, an’ that’s a fact.”_

_I need another trade._ Smiling, N’ailah enters the opening in the side of the building, greeted with a smile and warm words from the blue eyed Lalafell.


	3. The Mother Crystal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> N’ailah journeys inland and meets a strange new...ally.

“Ah, there she is. Lookin’ like a sorry sod, at that!”

Badedron’s voice sounds through the Wench as N’ailah strolls in, a bag of gil in hand and clothing and dark locs dripping with sea water. Her pouty face draws a snort from the barkeep as she drags herself to the counter. 

“I’ve seen a fair few things in these ‘alls, but never a soak in’ wet Miqo’te,” he teases. “Love the sea that much now, then? A sign ye got Limsan blood in ye now.”

“The only thing in my blood now is sea salt,” she moans, plopping on a stool and splaying her damp locs across the counter. “I went after a bigger catch, and it pulled me in. Little shit was stronger than I thought despite his size, ye? The fish here a small but surprisingly strong.”

Baderon lets out a hearty laugh at her distress but offers a comforting pat on her head. “Aye lass, we all lose our grip sometimes. Ye was a fisher before comin’ te Limsa then? Come te think I’ it, ye never said where you came from. Not nowhere in Eorzea I’m familiar with, with that funny accent ye got. Addin’ ‘ye’ everywhere, and the funny way ye pronounce shite.”

 _Shit._ “From far to the south,” N’ailah says quietly after a pause. She raises her waterlogged head to look the Hyur in the eyes. She’s met with a skeptical gaze, which she returns with her own stare. “Some things are better left a mystery. Like the fact that I’d be on murder duty my first day with the Dutiful Sisters, ye?”

“‘Ey, don’ pin that one on me,” he raises his hands to defend himself. “It’s that sod leader what sen’ ye out before checkin’ yer qualifications. ‘Sides, been a bloody good time what since ye joined, and yer still alive! Learn to let that stuff go!”

She huffs. “Easier said than done, ye? Though I am grateful for the introduction. Saving from the shadows is rewarding in its own right. The gil’s not bad either, especially after counting in the fishing. I’m satisfied. Happy, even.”

They exchange smiles as Baderon nods along to her words. 

“Aye, ye’ve only been ‘ere a short time, but ye’ve been doin’ well fer yerself lass, believe ye me. Strong, smart, with a winnin’ personality te boot! Aye, ye’ll weather any storm The Navigator deems worthy to blow yer way. Which’ll be takin’ ye inland for yer next job, if ye’ll take it.”

Her interest picked, N’ailah raises an eyebrow. “Sounds promising. I’m sure the fish and pirates won’t miss me too much.”

“That’s the way, lass,” the bartender says. He hands her a parchment, and she checks the contents as he explains her task. “This’ll take ye outside the walls to an orchard called Summerford Farms. The owner’s name’s Staelwyrn, and he’s an old mate o’ mine. He needs another arm or two fer work, and yer name was the firs’ te come te mind. I already sent word yer head in’ ‘is way, but show ‘im that letter anyways. Can’ be too careful what with all the kidnappin’s o’ late.”

She beams as that barkeep. “This is a glowing recommendation. I’m flattered, ye.”

“No gettin’ all emotional on me now, believe ye me,” he says. Scratching his head in embarrassment. “Just make sure ye work ‘ard and impress the ol’ bastard fer me. Yer one o’ me best, case ye hadn’ noticed.”

Meeting the Miqo’te’s gaze, he turns his head with a little pout. _Too kind for his own good._

“I won’t let you down,” she says, Rising with a sigh as the weight of her wet clothes came back to her.

“Take the Zephyr Gate and follow the road northeast te get there. Good luck, and be careful, lass. Keep them knives at the ready.”

 

N’ailah follows Badedron’s instructions, taking the winding path up the hills of Middle La Nocsea to her destination. She takes her time, bathing in the warmth of the coastal sun, letting it finish drying her clothes in the process. She takes a deep breath, letting the fusion of scents fill her senses. 

_Sea water, freshly fallen rain, parsley, she sighs happily. Different, but just enough to feel like home. I made the right choice choosing this island._ When she had set out on her journey, she did as much research as she could about the lands of Eorzea. The deep forests of the Shroud intrigued her, as did the vast sands of Thanalan. But she chose the small island of Vylbrand, it’s oceans and jungles more similar to her homeland. She would journey to the other places someday, once she got her bearings. And as long as she didn’t drown on her next fishing venture. 

Continuing up the hill, she passes fenced off trees, likely to provide some protection against the little Mandragoras scattered about the area. They gave her curious glances with their wide, white eyes as she passed, gazes averted seconds later when they lost interest. She tried to give one of the adorable creatures a pet on the leaf, but it dashed away when it felt she was too close. 

“I’d leave those alone,” a voice from under a tree calls out. “Lil’ shites ain’ nothin’ but trouble.”

“I see,” she replies disheartened. “Thank you for the warning.” _How something so cute could cause trouble, ye..._

The peak of the hill stood guarded by a gated stone wall that wrapped all the way around. Passing through the gate, she sees men cheering to dancers as they rested. As she passed, they invited her over for a good time. She invited them to give her directions to Staelwyrn. She climbed to the top of the hill, finding the burly Roegadyn looking over his keep at the top. Staelwyrn met her with his gaze, then reads over the letter she hands to him. 

“So you’re the adventurer Baderon promised, then,” he begins. “Aye, I’m the ‘old bastard’, and this is my humble orchard. Used to be a pirate, like most all in Limsa, till the Calamity did my ship in. So I took up the offer from Admiral Merlwyb to get us buccaneers to settle down and built this orchard up. Aye, brought a lot of pirates with me, but you can never take the sea from the man. The botanists‘ve been having problems, and work’s pilin’ up. So you’re here to step in where needed.”

“My arm is yours,” N’ailah smiles, tapping her chest to confirm her commitment. “If you’ve got the coin, you’ve got your worker.”

“Haha, that’s the way! You’re already more hardworking than half my pirates. But botany ain’t easy, and you’ll find out soon enough. 

 

And so she did. From the detail work of picking fruit to the countless stings she got from aggressive bees and wasps, the orchard was nothing short of exhausting. It almost made her miss the fish.

 _Little shits..._ she winces as she bandages up a wound from the aggressive foliage. As she finishes her ministrations, Staelwyrn comes to her to assign another task. Far more serious than earlier, she guessed the true reason Baderon sent her out here was finally coming to light. 

“You’ll have heard of the kidnappings, aye?”

“Yes,” she nods. “Citizens being abducted left and right, without a trace to follow. I’m guessing this is where my real work begins, ye?”

“You’re an observant one. Good, then this’ll be quick. It seems some unsavory folk have been seen near the area creepin’ and spyin’ on me men. Needless to say, they’re besides themselves with worry and they’re work’s sufferin’ for it.”

“And you’d like these inconveniences found and gone?”

“Slow yerself, lass!” Staelwyrn nearly reaches to grab her shoulders, as if she was about to run off at the moment. “I’ve no doubt yer good with them knives, but don’t get ahead of yerself yet.”

“Right,” she reminds herself. “Stick to the shadows, like a ‘bene’ rogue should.” _Jacke’d probably smack me in the head for wanting to be so rash._ ”Right, I’ll investigate then. Do you have any ideas of where to start?”

“I’d say head over to Seasong Grotto,” the Roedagyn male suggests. “Word is our unwelcome visitors have occupied the place. But be careful. If it really is the kidnappers...just be on your guard, alright, lass? Baderon would be hard pressed to forgive even me if you got hurt.”

“Ye?” N’ailah smugly crosses her arms, smirking at the Roedagyn. “I wasn’t aware he’d be so concerned for my well-being.”

Staelwyrn laughs. “Aye well, you're a good worker! Not easy to find an adventurer half as reliable as you. But you’re like a regular to him now, trust me on that. If you won’t be careful for your own sake, be careful for his, eh?”

“I will,” she promises. Making some final repairs to her gear, she makes her way to the grotto. 

 

The small cavern is where she found herself that night. It seemed the most likely time for the kidnappers to strike, and the easiest for her to put her new talent for hiding in the shadows to the test. Yet there was no sign of human life, only the floating Boggys that had taken up residence. A giant stone plaque stood in the center. She drew closer to inspect its words when a voice began to recite them for her. 

_“I am the waves that bear,_  
I am the winds that guide.  
I am the evening stars.  
I am the morning sky.  
I am born of the sea.  
And there shall I die.”

N’ailah turns to greet her new companion. The Miqo’te woman it came from inspected N’ailah as she began her history lesson. “It is the sailor’s requiem, a prayer for those on the waves.”

“Lovely words,” N’ailah comments warily. “Not the kind of poetic waxing likely to be done by a kidnapper.”

“Indeed. And yours is a dialect not like to be had by them,” she retorted, walking her way and taking in her appearance. “Ah, but you are the adventurer come to Summerford Farms. A pity. I thought I found my quarry, but it appears I was wrong.”

A loud crash sounds behind the women, and N’ailah’s eyes narrow at the enraged goobbue that appeared, blocking the only way out of the Grotto.

“Or perhaps not,” the woman smirks. “And what coincidence, that we should both be investigating these disappearances only to be attacked. Though we can ponder our situation later. Draw your-“

“Done,” N’ailah answers, knives at the ready. “I don’t have much experience cutting down monsters though. I trust that branch in your hand is for more than just intimidation, ye?”

“It works perfectly well, rest assured,” the woman answers. “Leave your wounds to me. And be quick, less we find more unwelcome visitors.”

“Right,” and N’ailah dashes forward, slicing into the creature’s leg, her knife straining to make its way through. _Its hide is thick!_ Eventually her blade makes its way through, and the creature stumbles low enough to for her to reach its neck. With a swift kick off the creature’s leg, her knife carves a line across the softer skin. She swiftly jumps back as the large creature tumbled to the ground, staining her garb with its blood in the process. 

“There’s more! Slay them quickly, and leave me to tend your wounds!”

N’ailah turns to see two more agitated goobbues and several frantic boggies coming their way. _Seven hells...I should’ve trained with the Marauders Guild instead_ , N’ailah whines in her head. Together with the conjurer keeping her on her feet, they finally subdue all their attackers. 

“Phew,” her companion sighs in relief. “Well, you certainly know how to wield those daggers.”

“Thanks,” N’ailah smiles. “You’re no average healer yourself I take it. How-“

“Another time perhaps,” the silver-haired woman cuts her off. “Let us see to the matter at hand, lest our assailants see fit to send us more visitors.”

N’ailah observes the woman, more curious than before. She starts to follow her in the direction of the goobbue carcass but stops suddenly, noticing a glow on the ground. She walks towards it, and blue crystal draws up to her, and N’ailah’s vision is suddenly filled with a blinding light. 

When she opens them again, she is shocked. The place for my dream...I know this place. Her thoughts are broken as light falls all around her, falling into the endless abyss of sky. 

“Here...Feel...Think...”

 _The voice..._ N’ailah turns to the source, a giant crystal floating her way. She floats frozen in space as the crystal addresses her. 

“Crystal bearer...I am Hydaelyn. All made one. There is darkness creeping upon our world, a darkness that seeks to still all life. And thus, for the sake of all, I beseech thee: deliver us from this fate!”

Unable to speak, N’ailah only nods, then turns as she senses the presence of others. Her eyes follow the sight of numerous adventures flying through the endless sky of stars. She follows, and comes upon a mountainous crystal. 

“The power to basing the Darkness dwellers in the Crystals of Life. Journey forth and lay claim to them. By thy deeds shall hey be revealed to thee. Go forth, my child, and shine thy Light on all creation.”

_Hydaelyn. The planet can speak. A towering crystal, beseeching me to find...more crystals? To save the world from Darkness. Quite the dream I've had; if I knew I was this creative I would've stayed home to be a writer. But if it's true...no, I’m just an adventurer. I go where I please, and help those that need me-for money. And right now I’m...kidnappers!_

Her thoughts clear again, N’ailah bats her eyes open, adjusting to the dim lighting as she gazes at the stone ceiling above. She finishes gather her surroundings before slowing rising to a seat. 

“Awake again, are we?”

The groggy Miqo’te turns to find her battle companion crouched before the goobbue, observing its corpse. N’ailah slowly rises and walks toward her as she pulled out a knife from the goobue’s back. 

“This is what drove the poor creature into a frenzy,” she explains. “It is the kind of knife used to cut rope. Our quarry must be seafaring men of some kind-piratical most like. Here, take this to your employer, unless you are still feeling too unwell to make it back?”

“No! No, I’ll be fine,” N’ailah explains hurriedly. “Sorry, I...I don’t know why I collapsed.”

“I must confess, I was quite surprised as well, you collapsing right after our victory. Too much aether, perhaps?”

“Only if aether makes you dream of towering crystals, ye,” N’ailah mutters under her breath. But her companion’s sharp ears picked up the words regardless. 

“I beg your pardon,” she exclaims. “A towering crystal? Then you...” The woman stops mid sentence, her face contorting to confusion. She returns her gaze to N’ailah, speaking with a newly found resolve. “At any rate, you should show the knife to your employer. I’m sure they’ll want to hear developments on this.”

“Will do,” the rogue responds. “And you?”

“I have other matters to attend do. The days ahead promise little rest, I fear.” She turns towards the exit, walking off into the night and leaving N’ailah with a final message. “May our paths cross again under the light of the Crystal.”

N’ailah watches her leave, still regaining her senses after her collapse. “I’m sure they will...” she says to her companion’s fading back, then heads out of the grotto into the light of the rising sun. 

Trudging her way up the hill, she finds Staelwyrn waiting expectantly for her, pacing in his spot on the hill. She smiled, remembering the promise she made. 

“Ode!” he cries out, hustling over to her. “Thank the Navigator you made it back safe! My men heard a right tussle in the grotto, and I feared I’d sent you to your death.”

“I had a promise to keep,” she says. “I had thought it was only to Baderon, but it seems you were a part of it as well, ye. But I’m alive, and with something to show you.” She pulls out the knife and hands it to him, observing his expression change from relief to anger at her explanation. 

“Aye, this is some seafarin’ man’s tool, don’t doubt me on that,” he explains. “Looks like there’re pirates comin’ to lure my hands back to life on the sea; and weren’t too happy ‘bout your interference. That’s why they sent the goobue on you, most like. I’d better warn my lads and lasses to be cautious.”

As he turns to go, N’ailah calls out to him. 

“Did you hire someone else to help? Another Miqo’te woman, a conjurer, smaller and lighter skinned than me.”

“You meet this person at the grotto?”

“Yes. And she had a strange...contraption on her arm as well. Some kind of goggles.”

“Contraption...ah, Y’shtola! She’s been in Limsa a while now, studyin’ the aether. Often brings her to Summerford and the grotto. She’s odd, I’ll grant you that, but she’s not like to associate with kidnappers. Trust me on that.”

“I see,” N’ailah answers unsatisfied. _She doesn’t associate with kidnappers, I can believe that. But she knows...something. About what happened to me. And I want answers..._

“-you’re a great help, lass. Will you help Limsa bring these bastards to justice?” Staelwyrn’s question snaps N’ailah back from her thoughts, and she nods in agreement to the half-heard request. His worries now assured, he turns back to the hut to get some rest. N’ailah stands under the trees, watching the sunrise rise above the towers of Limsa Lominsa. And she remembers Y’shtola’s words. 

“‘May our paths cross again under the light of the Crystal’, ye,” she says to herself. “I look forward to it.”


	4. Scions and Sacrifices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> N’ailah faces her first primal, and discovers the heavy price that comes from fighting them. Uses some direct dialogue from the game.

_‘Bless the Navigator fer steerin’ ye my way’..._

It had been close to a moon since N’ailah had been back at the Drowning Wench. Much as Y’shtola had prophesied, she nary had a moment to catch her breath. Her part in helping solve the recent spat of kidnappings had awarded her the recognition and favor of Admiral Merlwyb Bloefhiswyn herself. Such esteem afforded her special treatment most adventurers could never begin to dream of. But as these things go, it came with a caveat. With her new airship privileges, N’ailah was charged with delivering missives to the leaders of the two other city-states, Gridania and Ul’dah. The announcement had moved Baderon close to tears. 

From the ancient forests of The Twelveswood to the sprawling deserts of Thanalan, day by day she had come to know much and more about this realm and the role she would come to play in it. 

She reacquainted with Y’shtola and became initiated in the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, an order with the sole purpose of defending Eorzea from the threat of the primals. The term was unfamiliar, but their essence was known. Beings called upon in desperation to defend their followers. Though not unheard of in her land, they seemed to be far more prevalent here. 

And it was from these Scions that she learned the truth of her strange visions, a power known in the realm as the Echo. The leader Minifilia also possesses the gift, and promised to teach N’ailah as much as she could about their gift. And as with the Admiral, such promises never come without an expected return of favor. 

So she began her first mission with the womanizing Thancred, following leads to get to the source of disappearing refugees. A task that led her into contact with the Amalj’aa beast tribe. An ambush gone awry.... 

And now she was here. 

The flaming beast before her crouches lower still, raging eyes boring past her flesh to her very core. Distracted by the sight in her peripheral, N’ailah looks to see the Amalj’aa creeping farther and farther away from her in horror. Sensing that they wouldn’t attack for now, she turns to rally her companions in an attempt to flee. 

The sight before her leaves her stupefied. 

“What are...” _Are they...praying?_

They stood all, not a man left in defiance. Where before their arms hung in defeat or fear, now they were raised towards the beast in veneration. Curses and apologies were now words of loyalty and servitude. Only she remained unaltered. 

_“The truth of thine allegiance waxeth clear,”_ Ifrit cries. _“Thou art of the godless blessed’s number.”_

_The Gift..._

_“The Paragons warned of thine abhorrent kind. Thine existence is not to be suffered.”_

Realizing what’s to come, N’ailah draws her blades and takes her stance. Ifrit prepares for battle too, engulfing their surroundings in flames and leaving two clear choices: defeat him or die. 

_Let’s hope your Navigator guides me back to you, ye!_ Her will and steel set, she engages the Lord of the Inferno, dodging flame and claw with the deftness she learned on the docks. The battle is long, and by the end she can barely stand. But the primal does fall. With a final cry of rage, Ifrit dissipates back into the land, his aether scattered as his wall of flames fade with him. 

Where his body was, a crystal the color of the flames he mastered laid. Taking it into her hands, N’ailah feels a sensation she’s felt only twice before. In an instant she’s transported back into the realm, bright lights illuminating the darkness around her. The crystal connects, and she feels a warmth flow through her body. 

When she opens her eyes again, black shapes in the darkness move frantically. The Amalj’aa were in an uproar, having borne witness to their god’s demise at the hands of a mortal. A few point weapons at her, ready to challenge. It is then that she realizes the extent of her exhaustion, legs buckling as she draws her blades her again. 

“Pray forgive my lateness!” 

A voice belonging to no beastman sounds through the Bowl. N’ailah looks to the entrance and catches herself smiling as Thancred hastens his way towards her, a band of Immortal Flames breaking from behind him to drive off their captors. She lets the exhaustion get to her, collapsing to her knees with a sigh, hoping the brief rest will help her regain some strength in her legs. 

“I was delayed by a congregation of Amalj’aa zealots,” he explains once he reaches her. “I swear, each seemed more evangelical than the last. Thank the gods we made it before the worst could come to pass. Are you alright?” 

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“Well enough,” she says. “But the other Flames, ye? Something’s wrong with them.” 

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As they turn to check on the men she came to the Bowl with, an inflamed Amalj’aa rushes them. N’ailah tried to force herself up, but cannot. _Damn it..._

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“Hmph, persistence lot,” the bard mumbles under his breath. He runs towards the beast and jumps into the air with grace, striking the beast with three well targeted daggers. N’ailah watches in admiration and surprise; it was a fighting style she knew well, and it didn’t belong to a bard...but he didn’t give her time to inquire about it. 

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“Apologies for the interruption. You were saying?” 

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They turn to see the Bloodsworn rounding up N’ailah’s companions. Thancred’s gaze darkens for a moment as he observes their behavior. Before she can ask about it though, a series of roars steals both their attention. Returning to his charming self, he offers a hand. 

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“Let us continue this conversation in more agreeable surroundings, say Camp Drybone. Can you stand?” 

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“Maybe,” N’ailah says as she struggles to her feet. “Yeah, I can stand. It’s running that might be the problem.” 

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“Well then, I believe we shall both enjoy this journey,” he smiles. Turning his back, he bends down. “Pray hold on tight. The tighter the better, in fact!” 

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N’ailah huffs a laugh, following his instructions and wrapping her arms around his shoulders to raise herself onto his back. Once there, Thancred hooks his arms under her legs and hoists her a bit higher. 

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“Is this how you get all the ladies?” 

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“This tactic is reserved only for the most deserving,” he compliments as he weaves their escape route back into the desert. 

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They rendezvous with the full group of Immortal Flames at Camp Drybone, both of them tired from the journey. Thancred allows N’ailah a moment to rest in the local inn while he details the reinforcements on the situation. Feeling mildly refreshed, she exits her room and heads back into the desert sun. 

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She finds the soldiers and Thancred standing in the corner near the aetheryte and heads their way. When they notice her presence, they quickly direct Thancred to her. 

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“Ah, up and moving again,” he greets cheerfully before turning somber. “I must apologize for my late arrival. I was too late to be of any use...to you or the abductees.” 

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_______“It’s alright, ye,” she says with a tired smile. “I managed to beat the primal, and no one died. All in a day’s work!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _

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_______She laughs as she looks to the soldiers, but her expression morphs to confusion as she notices the soldiers more closely. The men she entered the Bowl of Embers with are shepherded into the corner, mumbling incoherently to themselves, a contingent of Flames standing guard over them. Her ears pick up mutters of Ifrit’s name through the babbles. Thancred reads her expression and begins to explain._ _ _ _ _ _ _

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_______“They may be whole of body, but the same cannot be said of their minds,” he says solemnly. “For once a man is tempered...”_ _ _ _ _ _ _

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_______“‘Tempered’”, she repeats. “Is that like the drowned people the Sahagin want? So what happens to them?” Thancred’s somber expression flashes away in an instant as he dodges her question._ _ _ _ _ _ _

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_______“Never mind that! It suits me ill to dwell on the negatives. Especially when there is so much to celebrate! Ifrit is slain, and by your hand, no less! I always knew you were special - on top of being gorgeous, of course - and that your actions would shape the fate of this realm. It seems my eye for talent remains undimmed.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _

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_______“Only you could compliment someone and yourself equally in the same breath,” she teases, playing along with his banter. Her curiosity remained, but Thancred was evading the topic for a reason, and she wouldn’t push him yet._ _ _ _ _ _ _

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_______“Minfilia will be proud beyond all reckoning,” he continues. “You won’t object if I bear the tidings to her myself? Thank you, my friend. Take all the time you need to rest before returning to the Waking Sands. But not too long; the realm’s problems won’t solve themselves.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _

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_______“I’ll leave a bit after you, ye,” she smiles. “Try not to be late this time.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _

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_______Thancred gives a good-hearted smack on her arm before setting off with a wave and final smile. She returns to the inn and lays on her bed, her thoughts returning to her companions. If their minds were broken, what was left of them..._ _ _ _ _ _ _

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_______Back at the Waking Sands, N’ailah consoles a distraught Tataru, giving a gentle pat to her soft cap before the Lalafell bursts into tears. Confident that the receptionist is calmed, she wastes no time heading downstairs, casually shaking off the praise of the other Scions as she heads for the solar. She enters the room to find Minfilia and Thancred in the middle of a conversation, both turning to beam as the Miqo’te enters the room._ _ _ _ _ _ _

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_______“It is good to see you again,” Minfilia opens her arms in welcome. “Thancred has told me everything. You have done well to return to us.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _

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_______“I have the Echo to thank for that, ye?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _

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_______The Antecedent nods. “Yes. We know not the why of it, but those blessed with the Echo are immune to primal influence. It is as though a greater power protects us...”_ _ _ _ _ _ _

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_And what about those that don’t..._ N’ailah’s lip tugs as she bites the inside of it to hold her words. 

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_______“When first you came to us, I told you and J’abari that the Echo would be instrumental in dealing with the primal threat. I trust now you begin to see why. I can now only hope that our other young recruit will have no need for it in Gridania.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _

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_______“The budding maturation of a growing young woman,” Thancred waxes. “And the confidence of a vivacious warrior from lands afar. Both blessed with the Echo and a talent for battle. It seems you two were destined to come to our door, and I for one could not be more pleased.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _

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_______“But more than that, I am grateful that you returned hail and whole,” Minfilia adds. “The Immortal Flames will handle the aftermath, so I suggest you take advantage of the respite. You may be sure it won’t last long. Once word spreads of your deeds, I fear you will have nary a moment to yourself!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _

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_______“Lucky me, ye,” N’ailah says with a wry smile. All the glory she had been winning recently was taking a toll. Meaning it was time to take the advice given and return back to the pirate city for a respite. She reaches the doors when Thancred stops her with a firm hand on her shoulder._ _ _ _ _ _ _

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_______“Better you hear this from one of us,” he says in a hushed tone. “But the tempered who were with you have all to be put to the death.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _

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_What!!_ She barely gets out a sound before Thancred’s hand moves to violently grip her arm, effectively shocking her into silence. Her eyes narrow as she’s about to berate him for his words and contact. But as the grip on her arm tightens, she looks into eyes and sees only anguish and apology. She peers over her shoulder to check if Minfilia’s attention had been drawn to them. Once assured it wasn’t, she turns back to Thancred with eyes lowered, attempting to contain her rage. “Why...” 

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________“I swear to you that we would not do this if there were any other recourse,” his whisper filled with guilt. “But it’s as I said before. Once a man is tempered, they become a thrall to their god. There’s no way to save them, or to revert the process.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

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_That’s shit!_ “...I see,” N’ailah finally says, not meeting his gaze. Her fury wasn’t subsiding as she hoped; and given his reaction, Thancred didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of it. “Then I’d better get stronger. To make sure this never happens again.” 

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_________Thancred’s hand releases its hold, and blood begins to flow through her arm again. “Aye. We Scions will continue our fight as well, that no more innocents need be sacrificed. I hope you will continue to stand with us. But I should be going. I must offer my apologies to the Flame General for the loss of his people. Till next time!”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

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_________He leaves her with a smile; but once he passes through the doors she hears his whispered vow to himself._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

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_________“Gods, how many more...I have to do better...I have to be stronger...”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

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Her eyes follow his back as he strides out of the Waking Sands, a sick feeling building in her gut, rage not subsiding. As if the remnant’s of the primal’s essence was seeping into her from the red crystal she now kept close to her chest. _They got killed, just like that? That’s shit..._

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__________“N’ailah, is aught amiss? You’re shaking.” Minfilia’s concerned voice calls._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

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_Am I?_ The Miqo’te turns around to give her a reassuring grin. 

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___________“Just a little tired, ye. It’s a lot to take in.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

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___________“I cannot argue that. I must echo Thancred’s apologies; had we known you would have met with the primal, we would have sent more support for you. I thank the Twelve you are returned. Pray get some rest.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

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___________N’ailah leaves with a wave, stopping in the hallway to count out her coins for the ferry home. The tremor of her hands causes the Gil in them to clank together in a chorus of scraping metal. If this is what she was doing back in the solar, then it is no wonder Minfilia was so concerned. She closes her eyes and balls her hand into a fist to stop the movement, then shoves the coins back into her purse. Her eyes snap back open as she makes a sharp turn to the storage area. With J’abari still on her mission in the Shroud with Yda and Papalymo, the room was more silent than usual. A few new faces try to come and congratulate her again, but stop short when they see her eyes. She flies past them all to find Urianger pouring over an old tome in the corner._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

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___________“You’re the most familiar with primals around here, ye?” She asks without pleasantry._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

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___________“Mine current endeavors doth greatly pertain to the study of the puissant beings, aye,” he answers. “What would thou ask of me?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

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_Worse than talking to a Limsan..._ “There must be a way to save the tempered, ye? We don’t just have to have them executed; it’s complete sh- it’s barbaric, ye!” 

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She directs her eyes straight into Urianger’s, but can’t read anything behind his deep red goggles. 

“Thou art questioning the decision made regarding the management of thine comrades in the battle against the Lord of the Inferno. The news hath reached mine ears as well. T’was a most tragic outcome, and an egregious loss of life. Yet though our order hath dedicated significant effort to the study of these aetheric beings, many of their machinations remain beyond our knowledge. Such is the case with the process of tempering. The multitudinous mysteries...ahem.” 

He cuts himself off as he realizes his words fell on deaf ears. His message had been clear: there was no hope for them. And that was all she needed to know. _That can’t be all._

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

_____________“Know that if we had knowledge of a means to reverse the effect of tempering, we would spare no effort to use it,” Y’shtola chimes in from the corner. She doesn’t raise her eyes from the book she’s diligently writing in. “But until such time, we can do naught else. Tis certainly not the best solution; merely the most preferable currently at our disposal.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

_____________“I got it,” N’ailah says shortly, folding her arms. Y’shtola raises her icy eyes to close off her lecture._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

_____________“Much like the other organization you serve in,” she reminds her. “We do what must needs be done in order to secure a better and brighter tomorrow. Even at the cost of blood on our hands.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

_____________“Thou hath been through an unimaginable trial,” Urianger chimes in. “Thine passion is most inspiring, but let it not come at the expense of thine health. Pray rest and put thy pains aside, for a time.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

_____________“I think Thancred might need to hear those words more than me right now,” N’ailah says with a forced smile, grateful for their attempted counsel and consolation. “But thanks for trying to cheer me up. It worked, for the most part. I’m off to Limsa, so you just contact me through  
linkpearl, ye?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

_____________“We will contact you when you are needed,” Y’shtola answers. “But truly, you are inspiring. Just finished slaying a primal and already heading back to work?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

_____________“After a good grog at the Wench, ye,” N’ailah laughs. “Baderon’ll want to hear this story.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

_____________Her detour complete, she returns to her route towards the dock, being sure to put on her false positivity once more for Tataru as she leaves the Waking Sands. Her darkened expression does not return until she has paid her fare and turns her face past the ship’s bow, staring out into the setting sun._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

_____________“There’s gotta be a better way,” she mutters to herself. “Something like that, there’s no excuse.”  
The ship’s bell sounds its imminent departure, and as the chatter of the other passengers reaches her ears, she sighs. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

_____________“Guess I’ll think about it after a rest,” she says with a tired smile, and heads below to her quarters to sleep, as does the sun._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________ _ _ _ _

__

________ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It didn’t really seem like the fact that people who became tempered would have to be killed got a lot of attention. Defeating beastmen is to be expected, but in the situation with Ifrit, or the hordes of tempted wandering around Southern Thanalan, you’d expect more focus to be drawn to the issue. At the very least, I’d like to think there are people out there looking for a possible solution to reversing tempering (and given what happened in the 4.0 final boss fight, maybe something will be discovered soon).
> 
> Anyway, writing Urianger is harder than writing a Limsan! R.I.P. to his fancy dialogue. Let me know what you think or if you have any tips or advice. Feedback and constructive criticism is always welcome! (And apologies if code randomly shows up or there are italics in weird places. I’m working off mobile and it’s acting a bit strange)


	5. Lessons from Afar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the encounter with Ifrlt, N’ailah has been having trouble coping with the fate of her comrades that day.

“Aye, bene lass, bene,” Jacke compliments boredly from his spot on the wall. N’ailah rises from her stance with a sigh. The quiet applause and mummers from the audience of her display of marksmanship hardly reach her as she collects the daggers stuck in the well pierced dummy.

One in the gut. One in the neck. One in the thigh. Locations on the body where mere ilms means the difference between incapacitation and a slow death. She holds one of the daggers, staring at it as her brow furrows. _Were their death’s slow..._

“N’ailah!” Her tail and ears snap straight at the harsh sounding of her name, and she turns to see an irate Jacke unmoved from his spot.

“I said no work for ye right now. Underfoot might have somethin’ for ye soon though, so stay in the area. I don’t wanna be runnin’ off to Thanalan or Llymlaen knows where lookin’ fer ye.”

She scrunches her face at his patronizing comment, but her mind comes up blank for an appropriate retort. So in silence she grabs her things and exits the dingy hideout and into the blazing Limsan sun. She blinks as her eyes adjust, shuffling around the docks and taking in the sounds of the waves slopping them. The heavy patter of fisherman scuttling around her joins the chorus as she steps into the dimly lit Fisherman’s Guild.

Leaning against the pearly coral, she watches with a smile as Sisipu barks orders to a small army of cowering Roegadyn from the Lalafell from her perch on the pool. And once they disperse she meets N’ailah’s eager turquoise eyes with her own apologetic green ones and a shake of her head.

_No work for me today? Shit…_ she sighs with a dejected grin. They wave at each other and both continue about their business: Sisipu managing Wawalago’s, and N’ailah back to figuring out what to do with her rare abundance of time. Even without receiving pay, she wanted to fish. So fish she would.

 

_Wonder if Fafarogu liked to fish as much as he did eat it. He mentioned his wife always cooked-_ ”Shit!!” 

Her musings are interrupted once again by a sudden tug on the line of her rod. Bracing her legs against the edge of the Anchor Yard, she gives a strong pull up - too strong. Her ears flick in irritation at the sound of the line snapping as she nearly flies backwards off the ledge from the recoil. 

“Lost another damn one,” she mutters to herself, frowning at the empty line in her hands. No bait and no fish to show for it. She sets the rod and arms in her lap to stare blankly at the vast blue, giving in once again to the dark thoughts that plagued her mind. 

More than a few weeks had passed since she faced Ifrit in the Bowl of Embers. Since she had risen in status as a primal slayer. And since the brave companions she fought with that fateful night had been unjustly murdered. 

She recalled Thancred’s reasoning behind the massacre: that a man tempered would spend his life in service to the god that “blessed” him. And given her interactions with Leviathan’s own followers, she couldn’t find any fault in his logic. 

_But still…_ the constant thought of those men-Fafarogu, Blehmin, Jobban, all of them - wouldn’t allow her accept them being slaughtered like lame livestock as a mercy. 

She reaches over to the tackle box on her right side for fresh bait. Tossling with the contents, it’s not until she hears a purposefully heavy footstep behind her that her entire body whirls around. She fumbles to catch her rod as it leaps from her lap while she reaches for the knife on her hip, turning to defend herself only to be met with a dagger dangerously close to her eye.

“Guess ye don’t care about losin’ an eye, is that it?” Jacke questions, pulling his arm back and glowering up at her from his lower position.

“Aye, I do,” she snaps and turns her back to him. “And I mind losing my rod, you...sod!” She peers over to look for her fishing tool in the water below but sees nothing. She huffs as she returns her arms to rest on her thighs, refusing to acknowledge her guildmaster’s presence as he rises to sit on the ledge next to her.

“Yer own fault fer bein’ sloppy,” he scolds. “Ever since ye came back, yer head ain’ been right. Forgettin’ key tidbits about missions, almost gettin’ caught durin’ them. Ain’ like yer usual dimber self at all.” 

She simply stares at the water, letting her hair frame her face as if to shield herself from Jacke’s words, knowing all he said to be true. Since that night, her mind barely gives her a bell to forget what happened. They had fought together, all of them: her and the brave men of the Flames. And only she lived; all due to some “gift” she knew little and less about. Men who had far more experience than her, who had lives and families waiting for them…

Killed not by the tempered beastmen they had set out to face, but by the very people that asked them to go on the mission in the first place.. The irony made their deaths sting even more.

“Ye’ve changed, N’ailah,” Jacke says after a silence. “An’ though they pretend otherwise, everyone’s worried about ye. Don’t find many upright lasses like ye around, and no one wants te see ye like this. So, what happened?”

She turns to Jacke without words, staring into his ice blue eyes and pondering whether to trust him with the truth.

“You ever,” she finally begins, turning back to the sea, “have people you trust do something you don’t like? Not so bad you can be with them no more; but bad enough to question...I don’t know, ye? How do you work with people you can’t fully trust?”

In her peripheral she sees Jacke lean back on his hands with a chuckle. “Ye know this is a city full o’ pirates, don’t ye?” He gives her a teasing smile as she frowns at him. 

“Course there’ll always be bastards that do plain wrong, and even more bastards that do wrong in the name o’ good,” he continues, eyes turning serious. “But I ain’t stoppin’ catchin’ the pure rot what breaks our code, no matter who I gotta work with. For the poor bastards who died to keep its honor, and the future bastards what need its integrity to be kept to stay alive.”

N’ailah gives him a confused side glance. _Can still barely understand what he says half the time…_ “So...basically you keep fighting with whoever you got to cause you got to? Even if your goals aren’t always the same?”

“Somethin’ to that. But if ye want a philosophy lesson to ease yer mind, ye’d best haul yer arse to Sharlyan or somewhere,” he says with a smirk forming on his lips. “O’ course, if ye’r lookin’ for another form o’ comfort, many a damber would be happy to oblige. Ol’ Jacke here included.”

N’ailah dissolves into laughter at the suggestion, removing a heavy glove to wipe a tear of amusement from her eyes.

“Thanks but I’ll pass. Don’t wanna get accused of favoritism for sleeping with the boss, eh?”

“Aye, well looks like we wouldn’ ‘ave the time now anyroad,” he closes, rising from his seated position. N’ailah watches as he hops off the ledge and follows his gaze as Underfoot appears from around the corner. “What’s the news?”

“Somethin’ queer in Wineport…”

 

And it was queer indeed. N’ailah went with the dark-skinned Lalafell to track some strange visitors that had arrived in Wineport. And standing above the collapsed bodies of several burly thugs was a young “milkmaid”. Her garb marked her as any average local girl from Vylbrand; but her black eyes and hair, as well as the curious circumstances that seemed to follow her gave N’ailah reason to believe otherwise.

Good thing her instincts hadn’t dulled, because she turned out to be more than an average milkmaid. Their investigation led them to Bronze Lake and back, revealing more questions and answers in equal measure. In a characteristically odd turn of events, they learned the truth behind the curious circumstances. The woman named Tsubame and Oboro, her companion who came to her rescue, were revealed to be Doman. And they had come for the head of a traitor for their homeland, the eccentric spy Karasu. N’ailah listened to their tale with interest as she moved to pick up a sparkling rock next to the body of one of their fallen comrades.

“Come to mill a treacherous took who blew the gab on his comrades? You sound like a right bene cove-consider ol’ Underfoot impressed,” her companion compliments after the mysterious visitors told their tale. In turn he receives blank stares.

“He’s saying you sound like good people,” N’ailah interprets, moving to hand the rock to Oboro.

“Ah, thank you,” Oboro reaches out to take the gift, an eyebrow raising at its glow. “Forgive me - this land and its tongue are still new to us.”

“Me too,” N’ailah grins with a shrug. “You get used to it, a bit.”

“Your tongue is strange as well, though unlike the one here. You are not of this land?” Though she wanted to question what he meant by strange, the Miqo’te merely nods in acknowledgment. “And yet you have acclimated, been accepted as one of their own.”

Oboro closes his eyes and folds his arms, standing deep in thought before his onyx gaze is fiercely locked onto her.

“I would make you an offer. We will instruct you in our art - the art of ninjutsu. In return, you will share with us your knowledge of this land, that it might serve us in our mission. You, who are also foreign in this land, may be able to provide better insights into how best to acclimate than one native to it. As well as the soul crystal - my comrade’s soul shined when you touched it. It must be a sign that we are fated to do battle together.”

N’ailah’s eyes widen at the sudden proposal, accepting the shining gem Oboro held out to her.  
A new power, something to better help protect herself and her comrades with; the offer was too good to turn down even if it meant working towards something askew of the Sisters or the Scions.

“Shit, guess Jacke was right,” she chuckles to herself before turning her attention to the Domans awaiting her answer. “I’ll help you then! If...I can, ye?”

She directs her uncertainty to the Lalafell who stood silently watching the interaction. Underfoot meets her gaze with a hint of sadness in his golden eyes.

“Well in me younger days, I’d be keen to try my hand at some o’ those fancy techniques myself. Can’t say we won’t miss ye, but I ain’t gonna stop ye either. Anyroad, the choice is yers, lass. I’ll be headin’ back to Limsa myself, before Jacke comes and gives me a good clout in the nob.” He sighs before walking off in the direction of the ferry.

“Come to the dock storehouse at Raincatcher Gully if you would know more,” Oboro says shortly. He leaves soon after, followed closely behind by Tsubame. 

N’ailah stands and watches them go, inhaling the humid air given off by the wild growth all around her. With a deep inhale of the damp air, she moves her legs and follows in the same direction.

 

“So I make “Che” then “Tin” to use the fire attack?” N’ailah asks, clutching her fingers in the symbol of the mudra before Oboro.

“ _Chi_ and _Ten_ ,” he corrects moving towards her. “That is the correct order of the techniques, but more importantly you must remember to form the mudras correctly.” He carefully disentangles her fingers from each other and guides them into the correct order. He lets go of her hands and she brings them up to her face with a frown.

“And if I switch them, that makes the other one, ‘Raiton’, ye,” she says half to herself. “How many of these I gotta learn again?”

“Three.”

She’s about to mumble a complaint when she reminds herself why she’s here. Why she decided to accept Oboro’s offer weeks ago and work with them in finding their treacherous countryman. 

The power to protect others, not just from primals but whatever mighty foe she found herself facing off against; no training was too grueling to endure when the stakes were so high. Her fellow young recruit had followed suit back at the Waking Sands. Whenever she went by for visits, J’abari and Arenvald could often be found training together. The young Miqo’te seemed particularly keen on building some muscles - muttering something about Yda calling her “squishy”.

So she jumps back into her training, heading outside with her teacher to practice her mudras on the local fauna. The speed with which the fiery aether jolted through her body took time to acclimate to, but she soon found comfort in the fast-paced nature of battle. As Underfoot had pointed out, the style of battle was not too far removed from the rogue’s of Limsa; but the powerful jutsus would prove more effective against another raging primal. 

As she finishes off an aggressive coeurl, heavy rain begins to fall on them, and Oboro suggests they head back into the hut for the lesson on the final mudra. He begins his mini lecture on its origin and purpose. And as N’ailah begins to feel herself fall asleep from his monotone explanation, a sharp beeping from the linkpearl calls her to attention. She gives him a short wave and moves towards the door, thankful for the distraction as she steps outside.

She moves to the corner of the deck of the hut to avoid getting soaked by the heavy rain around her. Her eyes are locked ahead towards the bridge as she presses the device in her ear.

_”Are you currently in Limsa Lominsa?”_ Y’shtola’s even voice asks over the small device. 

“Nearby,” she replies. “You need me for something?”

_”The Maelstrom has reason to believe that the kobolds have summoned Titan. I will be arriving shortly to speak with the Admiral about the next course of action. But should the worst come to pass, I trust you will be ready to do what must needs be done.”_

N’ailah doesn’t answer the question. Of course she would fight. And she had met a few companions who also possessed the Echo; she had tried to convince her newest ally to join the Scions, but the man was too busy chasing skirts to be bothered, only reliable when an exchange of fish and gems was at stake. She was confident in her ability to face another primal, but if there were others…

_”And J’abari will be joining us as well.”_

“Little Tau?” she asks surprised. 

_”The one and the same,”_ Y’shtola replies dryly. _”If it comes to battle, we would ask the two of you deal with the primal that none who do not possess the Echo need become involved. We wish to avoid another incident like Ifrit, as I’m sure you do._

N’ailah pauses again. J’abari possessing the Echo meant she wouldn’t become the primal’s thrall, which put N’ailah at ease. An ease soon replaced with worry over what comes after enthrallment is no longer a worry: the battle.

She had seen some of her and Arenvald’s training sessions with Yda and Papalymo. And going off the Lalafell’s constant scoldings after a match, her skills were still in dire need of improvement. 

If Titan was as aggressive as Ifrit…

_“We will arrive at port shortly. I will contact you again as we near; it would do J’abari well to have you be the first the greet her.”_

“Yeah, okay,” N’ailah replies, still distracted by thoughts of battle as they conclude their exchange. She leans against the sturdy wood of the shack with a heavy sigh. 

“Is everything alright?”

N’ailah turns to see Oboro standing close behind her in his usual stiff pose. She can only simper at the dry tone with which he voices his concern.

“Got some work coming up. Might be awhile before I’ll be back.”

“Do you require assistance?”

“It’s all good, ye?” she replies quickly. “Just something I gotta do...that’s all there is to it.” _Me and Little Tau, most likely. And this time, I won’t fail._


End file.
